"he tried to tell the truth, but what came out was only half of the truth. Later, much later, he found that he was unable to relieve himself of two regrets: one, that when she leaned back he saw that the necklace he made had scratched her throat, and two, that in the most important moment of his life he had chosen the wrong sentence."

"Home sweet home" for me is around our kitchen table. Everybody back from their own lives, reuniting at the end of the day around this beat-up rectangle, the heart of my home.

A nurturing, sharing, uncomplicated ritual. We eat. We talk. We laugh. We are filled. We remember who we are. We bow our heads. We give thanks to be together again. We break bread. A kind of sacrament to remember the covenant we have with each other.

[We didn't leave Olivia out of the frame on purpose...our late dinner just didn't fit into her social schedule.]